


Coming to Terms

by Laeviss



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Piss Enema, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 09:03:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11825463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: After a confusing experience, Garrosh and Varian attempt to come to terms with a new kink





	Coming to Terms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flarenwrath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flarenwrath/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Behavior Modification](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14656791) by [Flarenwrath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flarenwrath/pseuds/Flarenwrath). 



“You did _what_?”

It wasn’t what she said that got to Varian so much as the way his friend smirked, almost chuckled, on the last syllable, as if this were some kind of joke that only he wasn’t privy to. He paused in his pacing for a moment to shoot her a look: a glance laden with both annoyance and desperation.

“I put him in his place,” the king insisted, but Valeera’s smile remained unshaken. With every excuse he sputtered he started to realize how ridiculous he sounded “I wanted to show him how to treat a king, to teach him some manners! I was trying to– how was I supposed to–?”

The elf leapt down from the corner of his makeshift desk; she brushed past him and swept her fingers across the flap holding closed his tent, toying with the lacings. “It’s a sex thing, you know.” She didn’t look back, as if granting her king the courtesy to stand alone with his blush. “You do know that, right?” 

His stomach clenched. He opened his mouth to protest, but the sound he tried to muster died on his lips. 

“Right, Varian?” She tried again. The blood drained from Varian’s face, and he let his silence speak for itself. 

There was a rustle of fabric as she pulled the cord tighter, then, as if deciding, finally, that catching him flustered was better than leaving him with what seemed to be startling information, she doubled back. When their eyes met again, he quickly turned his gaze to the frozen ground. “I didn’t,” he mumbled in a rare show of meekness. She nodded and waited for him to look up once more.

What finally came was a growl: rough, and a bit too loud, more akin to the Lo’Gosh she had known in the ring than the king to whom she had pledged her loyalties. “People-!” His eyes flashed. “Are you telling me he– he wants–?”

“You _did_ let him finish, didn’t you?” And there she was, always ready to shut down his furious defenses. Her lips cracked into a smile, and he straightened, amiable, but not pleased.

“But he wanted to! He was enjoying it. I can’t stop an orcish pig from being–”

“You’re always transparent when you’re angry, you know.”

Varian tensed, not knowing whether to drop it or protest. Either way, he was still stuck in the hole he had dug himself. Willing back Lo’Gosh, he let down his guard, sinking down into his chair with a groan and fixing his gaze on the dirt. After a moment of struggling to find his words, he finally muttered, softly, almost needily, “Well, I didn’t know, Valeera. I don’t exactly get out much. So what do I do now?”

And when he sank down, she was there to join him, crouching next to his seat, her green eyes studying his face for a moment before murmuring, “You do what you want to do. Go talk to him. You opened a door and you should figure out where it leads.”

_____________________________________________

Garrosh thought it had been a dream; he almost wished it had been a dream, so he could look that disgusting pink-skin king in the face and snarl with dignity, never having knelt before him, never having felt the heat of his piss on his face or tasted his cum on his lips. But as his thoughts wandered to that night, he felt his pants grow tight. There was no denying it. It had happened, and Garrosh had _loved_ it. He glared at a pair of dwarf jousters and balled his hands into fists in his lap.

“Garrosh?” Thrall tried, but Garrosh set his jaw into an unyielding line. He felt the Warchief’s eyes questioning him but refused to meet them. After a moment, Thrall finally gave up and let Garrosh continue his slumped-over scowling. 

One of the dwarves charged forward on his ram. His lance crashed into the orc that rushed to meet him, splintering on his shield, the force of the impact destabilizing the smaller figure and sending him flying down with a ‘thmp’ into the hoof-marked mud. Garrosh sprung to his feet and yelled far louder than necessary. “Yes! Let your wolf break their skulls! Don’t let them live to see another day!”

For a moment, the shouting almost drowned out his thoughts. Almost, until Thrall cut him off–

“Garrosh.” The Warchief’s fingers closed around his arm and tried to force him back into his seat, but it was too late. The human king had caught his gaze from across the arena, and all he could hear was the thud of his own heart. The railing cracked under his fingers, and he let out a yell. 

“Garrosh.” Thrall tried again, this time pulling hard enough to knock the back of his thighs against the chair. 

He teetered for a moment, and snapped at the younger orc. “What? I’m encouraging our soldiers! I’m putting these Alliance in their–”

“You’re stirring up trouble and making us look like animals, Garrosh. I won’t stand for it. I think you’re done for now. Come back when you can treat our allies with the respect we’ve agreed to. Do you understand?”

It was rare for Thrall to stand his ground, but when he did, Garrosh found it difficult to fight him. His voice was low and as firm as a boulder, and rather than flaring with rage as his own eyes so easily did, the shaman’s eyes were as calm as a lake in the dead of night. Garrosh hated it. He threw back his chair and stomped off to the stairwell. “Fine. Have fun playing catch with these dogs. I’m done.” 

And with that, Garrosh was alone with his thoughts. He kicked the wall on his way down the stairs. The snow swirling past the door reminded him of the chill he had felt with his knees pressed against the cold dirt, longing for the heat of Varian’s hand and the splatter of piss that had crossed his face. Squeezing his eyes closed, he shook his head, and made for his tent at the far end of the campground. 

He had never wanted the human to see him that way. No. It was one thing to slip behind bars in Orgrimmar with a strange orc and let him skull-fuck you until you could barely see. It was another to bend the knee to an enemy and let him piss on you with a smug grin drawn across his pink-skinned cheeks. Garrosh had some _dignity_ ; he might like being dominated, but not by a human, not by him–

Right?

It was an empty lie and he knew it. A story he told himself to avoid the truth. It was comforting, but…he knew it couldn’t stand.

Because Wrynn had sought it out. Wrynn had come to his tent unannounced, and done that to him. The king wasn’t the victor. They were accomplices, allies in an act Garrosh had barely let himself imagine, and now he was left with more questions than he could answer. Another storm kicked up, and Garrosh was waiting, desperate, to know where it was headed. 

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait for long.

He had barely pulled closed the flap of his tent and sank down onto the fur-covered mat at the far end of his living space before he heard boots crunch in the snow outside. He looked up. His hand closed around the hilt of his axe, struggling to push back the hope that was burgeoning in the front of his mind. 

“Wrynn? Is that you?” He tried. A plate-clad hand drew back the canvas, and the boot he had heard crushing ice took a bold step across the threshold. 

“What? Were you waiting for me?” It was clearly meant as a taunt, but something in the human’s voice seemed to wane towards the end. Fierceness faded to curiosity, and the look with which Varian regarded him was as confused as it was arrogant.

He wanted– no, needed– to know what it meant, and as he rose and towered above the human, he felt almost vindicated, as if catching a glimpse of the king’s apprehension somehow made Garrosh’s own show of weakness okay. They stood for a long moment like that, before Varian finally spoke.

“I didn’t come here for– you know– necessarily. I just want to know why.”

“ _Why?_ Why do you think, Wrynn? You came to me. You pulled your cock out and–”

“–But you enjoyed it?”

“I– What do you think? I was drunk. I already had my hand in my pants. Then you came here and–” 

“So do you want to do it again?”

“I–” _What_? He stared, wide-eyed. What was he playing at now?

“Yes or no? That’s what I came here to ask. Do you want to do it again?” 

“I–” He sputtered, and his body took over. Suddenly, there was no other word on his lips but “yes.” 

And with that, Varian wrapped his fingers around his shoulder and pressed him back down onto the ground. Their eyes met– gazes now clear, perfectly sober, studying and asking and imploring all the questions to which they could never fathom to give voice, but somehow seemed so easy when they were watching like this, staring like this. And then–

Garrosh slid closed his eyes and waited for what felt like years. The cold air bristled at his cheek. The cool clang of metal rang in his ears as Varian unlatched his belt, and then–

He felt the hot splatter of piss cross his face with a splash. It trickled down his chin, drawing a line from his collar to the tent of his dick in his pants. He grit his teeth and watched. His cheeks darkened, and all he could do was moan. 

“Fuck, Varian–” Looking up at him, he remembered how his cock had tasted still leaking into his mouth. How it had hardened when his lips wrapped around it. This time he reached with his hand and encircled it, guided it. Dragged his palm along the shaft and admired the length and girth he had never expected from a human. He felt so dominated, and yet so desperate for Wrynn to take him and claim him and make him his. There were no lies or excuses left. All he saw was Varian’s eyes watching him with confusion and need.

“Fuck me. Please.”

The king’s gaze softened; he dragged his fingers through Garrosh’s hair, and, from the gleam in his eye, Garrosh knew he had understood. 

Before he processed what was happening, he was bent over the mat. Varian was surprisingly strong, and he held nothing back as he forced Garrosh onto his hands and knees and ripped down his tight leather pants from his hips. Ass now exposed to the cold Icecrown air, Garrosh gasped, and unwittingly let his back arch.

“You want this?”

Garrosh replied with a single nod. A dribble of piss rolled off of his chin and dripped down onto his furs, making him blush, making him hide his face against the softness and press his hips up into the air. 

And then his fingers were at his sides; nails dug into skin, and he felt Varian’s cock press between his cheeks. He rolled back and rutted against him. There was no room for embarrassment left in his body: not like this, not piss-soaked and shamed by the human who had dared to call him a pig. His only satisfaction came from the way Varian moaned and admitted how much he loved this, how much he needed this. It drove Garrosh to thrust back and cry out. It made every nerve in him ignite with the drive to see Varian as debased as he was. 

He felt the human fumbling with the cork on some oil he had tucked into his pack. His heard his hand slick his cock and felt the wetness of his head as it pressed against his opening. He yielded easily. This wasn’t his first time, and he was so ready for the human to fill him after all the dreaming last night had stirred in him. He curled his fingers, clutching the fur in his grasp, and groaned, loudly, unmistakably, “Varian.”

“Fuck–!” Voice high, hands shaking, Varian sank down into him. Stretched and full, Garrosh shuddered. 

“Feels good, ugh,” he confessed. There was no room for shame and reservation. For contest or dignity. Piss-soaked and groaning as he was, he could only roll his hips back and cry out into the Icecrown air. “Varian–!”

“Garrosh,” Varian’s voice was equally shaken. Garrosh felt him rolling forward, his cock pressing against his inner wall before dragging back out. He felt the slap of his balls, the rhythm, the heat he had needed so badly every night since coming to Northrend. Varian was here with him, and just as desperate as he was, just as needy–

“Fuck,” his hips rocked harder. Skin all but slammed against skin. Garrosh’s arms buckled, and he bucked forward, wet face now buried in the mat. 

Sliding his hand from Garrosh’s hip to the head of his cock, Varian toyed with it, appraisingly, palm moving from head to base and back up again as if learning how to press his foreskin up over his slit. His shaft twitched under these ministrations, and the human let out a strangled gasp. Garrosh kept his head bowed.

“You want this, don’t you? You like it like this?” 

“…Like you,” he admitted: as much to himself as the king. Varian thrust harder. His legs trembled.

“Want me to fill you?”

The voice was wild, alien to Garrosh. So unlike the stuck-up pink-skin he had come to know across war tables and arenas. It filled him with visceral need: swelling, brimming with desire, and nothing in him could stop his moan. He rolled back, and whimpered, “Yes.”

And then he felt it, heavy and hot, probing and pressing against him. Under normal circumstances he would have been impressed by how quickly the human recovered, how soon it was before he was ready to fill him with piss again, but such thoughts were far from his mind. All he knew was the fullness, the pressure. The weight and warmth that left him shaking and biting his lip and leaking down onto the furs. Varian rocked forward again and it dripped down onto his balls. He shivered; his body tensed. Something inside him clenched and released, and he came, hard, into the human's palm.

It took a few shaky breaths before he fully accepted where he was. Wet and sweltering under Varian’s chest, he found it difficult to come to grips with what the human had done to him and how sticky his cock felt in Varian’s grasp. He hid his face again. A shudder took him. Varian’s sweaty hair pressed against his cheek, and there was a pregnant pause. 

“You really like that, don’t you?”

“…Shut up.” He grumbled. Even Garrosh knew he was in no position to clear himself of that charge. Not with the human’s piss on him and in him. Not with shaking legs and a cock splattered with cum.

“So this is _your thing?_ Orcs really are disgusting.” 

“Oh yeah? Well look who keeps coming back for more.”

Garrosh felt the human’s groan against his shoulder. He grinned. It was clearly enough to keep him silent for now. The king needed this as badly as he did, and it made him laugh, chuckle, even, as a wave of euphoria washed over him.

Accomplices indeed. The human couldn’t deny it now.


End file.
